


Splash Page

by laliquey



Series: Nineteen Rooms [1]
Category: Social Network (2010), The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hacking, Revenge, Road Trips, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laliquey/pseuds/laliquey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lisbeth cyberstalks Mark for amusement, then gets caught up watching him watch <i>Eduardo.</i> She likes Eduardo and engineers a reason to meet him; they become friends with eventual benefits and take a road trip from Miami to San Francisco for a shareholders meeting and a Lisbeth/Mark showdown.</p><p>For the tsnrarepairfest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splash Page

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Salander and Saverin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/358280) by [Kenarrepoere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenarrepoere/pseuds/Kenarrepoere). 



> The idea for this pairing came from the excellent post and comment thread linked above. You also need to see the artwork generated by these amazing talents: [art by badsketches](http://badsketches.livejournal.com/40900.html), [art by laenix](http://laenix.livejournal.com/1349.html). Many thanks to them! There's a [playlist](http://pradazathecleaners.tumblr.com/post/64985211986), too.

She's laid it all out and is satisfied she has everything she needs. Admittedly, it's an odd toolkit for a first date.  
  
Needle-nose pliers.  
A handkerchief.  
A jewelers screwdriver.  
Makeup: kohl, bronzer, lipstick (color name: _scarlet saucebox)._  
  
It's going to be an odd first date, though, and is all the more unusual because Eduardo, the other half, doesn't know about it. They've never met. In fact he doesn't even know she exists.  
  
It all started because of Mark. His name was everywhere - Mark Zuckerberg, hacker extraordinaire, boy billionaire, prince of the internet, and Lisbeth Salander made it a side project to learn more about him. The sycophantic tech articles revealed next to nothing, so she hacked in and helped herself to her own personal window on his laptop. _How's that for hacker extraordinaire,_ she thought, christening a clone of his hard drive on an untraceable server in the Netherlands. She started logging in and watching his active desktop the way some might enjoy a favorite television program. His lightning-fast juggling of five things at once was strangely beautiful to watch, but sometimes, at odd hours of the night, he'd slow down and look at old pictures - college pictures full of fresh-faced young men holding red beer cups and laughing. One boy in particular he looked at again and again, and sometimes manipulated the pictures with different filters so that his warm brown eyes almost came to life.  
  
His name was Eduardo, and Mark _obsessed_ over him. Lisbeth's regular hobby viewing took on a soap opera feel when she started reading the maudlin email drafts Mark never sent and the awful poetry he wrote in Greek. She had no reason or intent to screw with him, but knowing his Achilles heel couldn't hurt.  
  
One night, she watched Mark mess around in real time when his desktop shifted to one with far fewer icons and a picture of the Rio-Niterói bridge over blue water. The hair on her arms stood up at the realization that the new wrinkle in the peep show was _Eduardo's_ desktop, and she watched Mark dig into every one of his files without regard for decorum or privacy. Of course she capitalized on his intrusion by piggybacking new rows of source code onto every click, and in a week she had a copy of Eduardo's hard drive, too. His search history revealed recurrent nightmares about his teeth falling out, but other than that his interests were normal and he seemed so sweet and sad.  
  
As the voyeurism stretched longer, her feelings fluctuated between shame for watching, a queasy mix of pity and irritation towards Mark, and ticklish interest in Eduardo, whom she was suddenly determined to meet.  
  
Thus, the toolkit for the strangest first date ever.  
  
  
 **MIAMI, FLORIDA**  
  
  
She removes a few of her less conventional piercings and sketches around her eyes with the kohl pencil until she looks smoky and seductive. Next comes a dusting of bronzer and a swipe of matte red lipstick; it hardly transforms her into a South Beach stereotype, but at least she won't frighten him.  
  
She finds his car in the parking lot outside a Miami club – it's a sleek black Mercedes that's just on the cusp of ostentation, and she tucks the handkerchief in one of the top grill squares so the chrome won't scratch. Using the pliers and the screwdriver, she pops the hood latch and disconnects the ignition relay.  
  
The bass from the club is so loud it's audible on the outside - she knows Eduardo's inside with his brother and it's tempting to go in and look for them, but it's better to wait. She'll be able to hear the engagement gear click-click-clicking when he tries to start the car, and it's not like he can go anywhere without her.  
  
She smokes and waits, and it happens exactly as expected – she hears five rounds of the telltale clicks and strolls up beside the car, where Eduardo is swearing and helpless behind the wheel. She taps on his window and he rolls it down. “Hello,” she says, and he's beautiful; no wonder Mark can't get over him. “Having trouble?”  
  
“Hi. I don't know anything about cars,” he says, his eyes desperate and wild. “It won't start. It's practically new, and...I don't know what to do.”  
  
“Hmm.”  
  
“It's insane. The stereo works. And the windows work, obviously.”  
  
“I could give you a ride home,” Lisbeth offers.  
  
“That's really nice of you, but...” She could have guessed he wouldn't want to impose on anyone, especially not a stranger. “Let me try a call first.”  
  
She leans her hip against the car and waits; after a few moments fluid, animated Portuguese tumbles out in such density it's plain he's leaving a message and not speaking to someone. He hangs up with a sigh. “My jerk brother just went home with two women, so it's no surprise his ringer's off.”  
  
“Two women,” she tuts. “And you're afraid of just one?”  
  
“No, I just...okay. I gratefully accept your ride home.” He gets out of the car to follow her.  
  
“Home is where?” she asks, like she doesn't know.  
  
“Head towards Key Biscayne and I'll tell you what to do when we get closer.”  
  
Lisbeth leads him to her bike and kicks the back footbars down, and gets on and folds up the kickstand. He's nervous to get on, and sits bolt upright once he does. “You can hold on to me, if you want to,” she says, but he's a bad passenger even before they get out of the parking lot – he fights every curve to the point that she has to stop and give him a stern lecture. “Listen. You're a lot bigger than me, and if you don't cooperate we'll both fall off. Just lean with me. I know what I'm doing."  
  
He has no choice when they're flying down the interstate at 120. He's crushing her ribcage out of terror and convinced he's going to die. _Pretend it's a video game,_ he tells himself, and just when thinks he might be able to open his eyes, she takes a hard hairpin turn on the Rickenbacker exit and brings them back to the parking lot where they started.  
  
He's shaken but exhilarated now that it's over. “You know, you really shouldn't drive like that.”  
  
“I have an idea,” she says, tapping a toe on the tire of his dead car. “Open the hood.”  
  
“I...I don't know how.”  
  
She smiles and takes his keys, pops it from the inside, then pretends it's a bit less simple than it is to reconnect the relay. “Try it now,” she says, and the car roars to life. Eduardo's embarrassment is replaced by complete joy and gratitude. “Oh my God, you're the best. Tell me what I can do to thank you. Anything. I'm serious.”  
  
“Um...” Lisbeth pretends to think. “I could eat,” she says, and they end up at a shitty all-night diner, where Eduardo starts to like her even more. For one thing, she eats more than he would have guessed anyone her size could. She's also deliciously weird, and he's never met another person who knows about AMO cycles _and_ every member of Parreira's doomed Magic Square.  
  
*  
  
They fall into an odd relationship and spend most afternoons drinking spiked lemonade poolside at Eduardo's parents' house. Lisbeth likes how he's an undemanding conversationalist, and for some reason he seems to like having her around. They enjoy immaterial chitchat, but most often they sip and stare at the water. Eduardo's been doing it for months, gradually getting over the worst thing to ever happen to him, and sometimes he wonders if Lisbeth's getting over something, too.  
  
The French door to the house swings open and temporarily blinds them with reflected sun glare; it's Eduardo's older brother João Gabriel, the one who turned his ringer off. He shares Eduardo's long arms and wide smile but somehow his smile is less kind.  
  
“Hey,” Eduardo sits up a little. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Taking mom to her eye appointment because you're useless.” He delivers a playful slap to the top of Eduardo's head and tosses a white chess rook in his lap. “She said if she steps on one more of these she's throwing your whole board out.”  
  
“I didn't know you played,” Lisbeth says, thrilled. “Are you any good?”  
  
“I'm okay,” Eduardo admits, and his brother slaps the top of his head so hard Eduardo yelps.  
  
“My little brother is far too modest,” he says, smoothing Eduardo's hair back into place with faux affection. “How old were you when you beat that grandmaster? Twelve?”  
  
“Thirteen,” Eduardo says quietly.  
  
“Thirteen,” João Gabriel repeats. “I'll never forget it. It was the day all other Saverin offspring vanished in the eyes of our father. You're still dad's favorite, right Eduardo?”  
  
“Fuck you.” Eduardo scowls and reaches back to smack him but misses.  
  
“My brother's very smart, but he's also oversensitive and moody.” João Gabriel winks for Lisbeth's benefit and takes his mean smile and swagger back into the house.  
  
Eduardo sinks back into his chair and wonders which of his parents deemed him too useless to drive to a doctor's appointment. “I need to get the fuck out of here.”  
  
“What's stopping you?”  
  
“I don't know. It's not money. I mean, I'm a mil...” He catches himself. “I came into some money and I don't know what to do with it. Or myself. I've had a horrible year and I'm staying here till I decide what to do next.”  
  
“I came into sudden money once,” Lisbeth says in reference to the Wennerström account she hacked and drained. “So I understand. It's disorienting.”  
  
“Where'd you get yours?”  
  
Her answer is unrelated to the question, but it is a fact so she doesn't consider it a lie. “Both of my parents are dead.”  
  
“I'm sorry to hear that.”  
  
She shrugs. “Where did yours come from?”  
  
“Facebook.”  
  
“Didn't Zuckerberg settle with that other guy?”  
  
“I _am_ the other guy.”  
  
“Oh,” she says, and picks an imaginary thread off the piping on her boyshorts.  
  
It's quiet for so long the sun shifts, and Lisbeth moves her chair to follow the shade from the house. She assumes Eduardo's fallen asleep behind his sunglasses, so it's startling when he speaks.  
  
“Maybe we should do something besides drink every day.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“I don't know. The only thing on my schedule ever is a shareholders' meeting I don't really want to go to.”  
  
“Where and when?”  
  
“On the west coast next month.”  
  
Lisbeth sits up. “We should drive there.”  
  
  
 **LOXLEY, ALABAMA**  
  
  
Eduardo thought he knew heat and humidity, but he's been spoiled by the Miami mitigation of wind. The deep south version is almost more than he can stand - the car's air conditioning cranks out cold like it should, but a sticky film covers his skin just from getting in and out twice – once for lunch and once to scrub dead bugs off the windshield.  
  
“What's the green stuff?” Lisbeth taps against the passenger window glass, referring to the dripping carpet of vines on either side of the highway. It covers power lines and trees, creating accidental topiaries from the structures underneath.  
  
“Kudzu. It's taking over the entire southeast, and it kills anything it covers by choking out the light.”  
  
“That's too bad.”  
  
“Yeah. It has a crazy root system – it spreads like Facebook.”  
  
“Hmm,” Lisbeth says, and continues to stare out the window.  
  
“I feel so gross. I can't wait to take a shower.”  
  
“Neither can I.”  
  
“Want to share a room again?”  
  
“Yeah,” Lisbeth says. “I liked that.” They'd tried separate hotel rooms the first night but ended up in the same one in separate beds, lying on their sides and watching television in perfect peace. “I'd like it if we could stay places that aren't so nice, though. Like really cheap motels because I can smoke in them, but...only if you don't mind.”  
  
“Yeah. I'm fine with that,” Eduardo assents, because cheap motels will be a new and interesting adventure for him. Already this trip is unlike anything he's ever done, and so much better than his mother yelling at him daily to stay out of the pool because he's been drinking and she thinks he'll drown.  
  
His new independence feels so good he'd dared to douse a plate of roadside barbecue with hot sauce hand-labeled _Crimson Tide_ on a strip of masking tape, but the effects of this atomic lunch hit him further down the road.  
  
“Jesus, I think my stomach lining's trying to eat itself,” he says with a cringe. “Do you care if we stop?”  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
“Okay, good, 'cause I need a drugstore.”  
  
Slightly off the interstate, they find a small town with a little brick nucleus like something from the movies, from decades ago. It even has a dime store with a fiberglass pony out front that gallops on quarters, and Lisbeth leans against it and smokes while Eduardo goes in for antacid.  
  
A minute later he pops back out. “You should come in,” he says with a huge grin. “It's kind of a fun store.”  
  
Lisbeth doesn't quite believe him but follows him inside, and it's like a time warp from an era that neither of them were alive for. They fill a red plastic shopping basket with ridiculous things – makeup and nail polish, old-fashioned paper maps of the next three states, a kite, a magnetic chess board, and a big straw sun hat for Lisbeth.  
  
“What's a Moon Pie?”  
  
“I don't know, but get a few.”  
  
Eduardo crunches half a roll of antacid tablets the moment they're paid for, and he can't contain his glee that there's an old photo booth in the corner. “Good thing we didn't waste all our quarters on the horse outside,” he says, depositing coins and dragging Lisbeth in to sit on his lap.  
  
She bends over to reach into the bag at their feet. “I want my hat.”  
  
“Okay,” he says, reaching forward to press the button. “Ready?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
The first picture is Lisbeth screaming because Eduardo's snatched her hat and folded it in half over her head.  
  
The second is Lisbeth pulling her shirt over her head while Eduardo squeezes his eyes shut, like he can't handle it.  
  
The third is her utterly topless and both of them laughing, and the fourth is Eduardo's forearm wrapped around her like a strapless bra, covering both of her breasts while she looks saucily into the camera like she has the world's dirtiest secret.  
  
The kiosk only takes four pictures, but they sit still a moment, maybe hoping for another. “So...” Eduardo's probably making it more awkward by saying it, but still. “I'm sorry if you didn't want me to do that.”  
  
She stands and turns to look at him blankly. “It's okay. I wanted you to.”  
  
He shakes out her light little t-shirt without looking up and hands it back.  
  
The exit the booth and Lisbeth gently blows on the wet strip of photos and shows him when it's dry. “Huh,” Eduardo says, first noticing her pierced nipple but then something less obvious. “We're so happy it doesn't look like us.”  
  
For the rest of Alabama, they pretend they live in the eighties and only use the big paper map, folding it out across the dashboard. Lisbeth puts on a new bright coral lipstick, and Eduardo finds the first bite of a Moon Pie cloying and disgusting, but then he can't eat the rest of it fast enough.  
  
  
 **OPELOUSAS, LOUISIANA**  
  
  
“Let's play chess.”  
  
“But you're driving.”  
  
“I can still play,” Eduardo says. “Set up the board.” Lisbeth does, and he glances down, thinks a minute, and instructs her where to move the black pieces.  
  
An hour in, neither has gotten anywhere.  
  
The first draw is oddly satisfying, but after three more, Eduardo's done. “I don't want to play anymore, this isn't fun. My dad always says, 'only play when you think you can win.' He means it in a business sense, but I think it applies to almost everything. Including chess. And hot sauce.”  
  
“And love?”  
  
Eduardo snorts like that's the understatement of the year. “God, yes.”  
  
*  
  
They stop to stretch their legs and end up in a green city park - it's Eduardo's idea to abandon the chessboard under a tree for someone else to find, and he delivers a short eulogy. "This is the most graceful solution to the futility of playing each other, and far more powerful than an outright win."  
  
Lisbeth play-punches his arm for this and he pretends it hurts. “You're horrible,” he says, rubbing his arm. “I don't want to get back in the car with you.”  
  
“Then don't,” Lisbeth says, and Eduardo looks up into the trees and smiles so wide she can't guess what he's so happy about. And then he tells her.  
  
“There's enough wind to fly the kite.”  
  
He pulls it out of its sleeve and assembles it, then settles on his back in the grass once he gets it up in the air. He holds the string tight as it dips and sails above them while Lisbeth sits beside him with a cigarette and studies his face. The chess felt like they'd lost some sort of friendship virginity to each other, and she thinks they're close enough for personal questions. “Tell me about Mark.”  
  
“You already know about Mark.”  
  
“Mark and you.”  
  
“There's nothing to tell.” Lisbeth presses her lips together with a look that says _really?_ and Eduardo acquiesces. “Okay. We had a...thing. So the business disaster was bad, but it was personal, too.”  
  
“Did you fuck him?”  
  
“A little. Not really. I don't know what to call what we did.” Lisbeth's eyes widen to imply her guess is more outlandish than reality. “I don't wanna talk about it, okay?”  
  
When her coy smile lingers, Eduardo gets upset and starts reeling in the kite. “Dammit, I never do this to you. There's a million things I wanna know about you and I never ask questions. I'm not answering yours.”  
  
When the kite's back in his hands, he tries to dismantle it but the wooden sticks won't cooperate; he breaks them in frustration and immediately feels terrible about it. “I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you,” he says. “And I don't usually murder kites.”  
  
Lisbeth smiles at his joke, but anger starts gathering behind her breastbone because he deserved to be treated like a prince and Mark hadn't.  
  
That night, while Eduardo's off in search of fresh fruit to cancel out all the junk he's been eating, she gets out her laptop to see if Mark still checks in with Eduardo's computer. She finds faint electronic footprints of his presence all over it in sporadic, obsessive clusters. Her webcam takes decent pictures, so she decides to leave a little present. Next time he checks in with Eduardo's laptop, he will be greeted by a splash page of their photo booth pictures.  
  
She captions it: _You will never have him again._  
  
*  
  
The tête à tête carries on as the drive progresses through central time zone; Mark deletes the buried file the splash page drew from, and a text file is in its place.  
  
 _ **Nice. Who are you?**_  
  
 _The girl in the picture._  
  
 _ **No shit. Who the fuck are you?**_  
  
  
 **WICHITA FALLS, TEXAS**  
  
  
They have a good few days of heat mirages rippling the road, picnics, and motel rooms just crummy enough to have charm. Texas is unlike anywhere either of them have ever been, and they can't tell if the wild west ethos is real or manufactured for outsiders like them. In any case, a stop at a leather boutique nets Lisbeth her favorite non-tech accessory ever.  
  
“It's funny that you spent a thousand dollars on a pair of cowboy boots but our room for the night cost thirty,” Eduardo says. The room unfortunately looks what it costs, but her new cowboy boots are ruby red and worth every cent.  
  
“I want to go for a walk to break them in.”  
  
“And while we're out let's find a shitty bar to hang out in so we don't have to spend as much time in this godawful room.”  
  
The shitty bar is easy to find, and they spend half the night eating green chile cheese fries and downing tequila. The locals find them an interesting novelty, and Eduardo's hilarious and brave and drunk. He flirts with Lisbeth, which has never really happened for real. “You're the best time I've ever had,” he says.  
  
“Then I feel sorry for you.”  
  
“I'm serious. I've never been this happy.” He grazes a fingertip down her arm and looks away, like it's too much to look straight at her. “How are your boots breaking in?”  
  
“Nicely, thank you,” she says and stamps a little circle in front of him, precariously balanced on the barstool he's already fallen off of once. She looks over her shoulder like a pinup. “See somethin' you like, cowboy?”  
  
“Sure do, little lady,” he says, dragging the words out to a drawl. “An' I was thinkin'...aw, never mind.”  
  
“What?”  
  
He closes his eyes and shakes his head like it's too awful to say, and she puts her hands on his knees and leans in close. “It won't seem as bad if you whisper it.”  
  
He laughs in her face; his breath smells like lime. “Okay,” he says, leaning closer. “Okay. I...was thinkin' we could go back to the room an' you could take off everything except the boots.”  
  
“Another round, you two?” the bartender asks, and they decline in unison. They leave a stack of bills on the bar and walk back to the room at a self-consciously brisk clip.  
  
Eduardo is all nerves when they get there and he stands awkwardly, inexplicably near the door. Lisbeth methodically undresses and re-dons the boots, then walks over to him. Without even the prelude of a kiss, she unbuckles his belt and pulls everything down to his knees and backs him up to sit on the desk chair. She stands close enough that he can run his mouth all over her bare skin and bends forward to smell his hair.  
  
“Tell me this won't ruin things for us,” he whispers, mouthing her breasts, first avoiding the silver ring in her nipple but then circling it with his tongue and sucking gently.  
  
“It won't. It'll make things better,” she says, and wraps her arms around his head. She wonders how long he's wanted this – minutes? Months? He pushes two fingers inside her and hooks them around her pubic bone, pressing against a spot that feels like every nerve she has ends there, and she gasps when he presses harder.  
  
He likes that she likes it; his mouth gets more aggressive, and without warning she hooks a heel into a chair rail and swings her other leg over to straddle him. She's wet and it's in; she shifts to adjust for how big he is, and Eduardo is panicked but cooperative as she starts to move. “Hey, please. I can't...” She digs her heels into the rails and grinds down hard. “Lisbeth,” he groans, helpless underneath her; she rocks up and down and he grips her ass with both hands in an attempt to slow her down. Their mouths brush by accident and Eduardo tries so hard to hold off but can't; it feels too good, and he comes blindingly hard and fast. “I'm sorry,” he says into her neck when she's slowed and stopped. “I never...it's been a long time, and...”  
  
The apology stops when she sweeps his face up in both hands and presses her half-open mouth on his, taking in his tongue with a soft little sound that he makes, too. They kiss and wrap tighter around each other, and in a few minutes he starts to firm up inside her. “Okay,” he says in between kisses, encouraging her with a nudge. “Okay. Again.”  
  
Much later, she kicks her boots off the edge of the bed knowing that in the morning she may be walking as bowlegged as an actual cowgirl.  
  
Eduardo's just glad he redeemed himself after the rough start. He's never had a first kiss quite like that, and he pulls her close and says, “I take back every negative thing I said about this room.”  
  
  
 **SANTA ROSA, NEW MEXICO**  
  
  
There's an odd quality to southwestern sunlight – colors look different than what Eduardo thinks they should, and after the sun rises underneath a deep violet band in the morning, everything's brighter. He considers asking Lisbeth if she has any theories – his is less atmospheric filter due to altitude, but they're in one of their long silences and he hates to interrupt it. Like she said a few days ago, _I love how we can do nothing and it's okay._  
  
Sometime around ten, the world looks so bleached-out not even sunglasses are enough, and by mid-afternoon he has a headache; the sun bouncing off endless miles of sandstone is too much.  
  
“I thought I could make it to Albuquerque but I can't.”  
  
“Should I take over?”  
  
“If you want to, but it's the sun. Even if I'm not driving, there's just too damn much of it. Do you care if we stop early?”  
  
“No, not at all.”  
  
It's a pleasant surprise that their room for the night is nicer than usual, with good quality linens and a bed that doesn't sag. Lisbeth pitches herself on it to test it, which segues into lying face-down and coercing Eduardo to rub her bare back. “Shouldn't you be doing this for me?” he says, studying the curves of her dragon. “I'm the one who drove all day.”  
  
“You drive with your left knee and one finger. It can't be that hard.”  
  
“I just make it look easy,” he says, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. “I'm gonna shut my eyes for a while. I promise I'll get up when the pizza guy comes.” He kisses the back of her neck and nestles beside her, then traces the tattoo curves from memory with a fingertip.  
  
It's quite possibly the nicest thing Lisbeth has ever felt. “My clothes feel itchy. Heavy,” she says, neglecting to add that her panties have been a damp disaster ever since they started sleeping together. “Can we do a load of wash tonight?”  
  
“We can do anything you want tonight,” Eduardo says with a long exhale, and shifts just to feel the sweet leftover ache in his hip joints. “I've been thinking about stuff.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“Like all the freedom we have. And the dumb stuff, too, like cheese fries and paper maps.” His hand moves to her waist and settles there. “This trip is the best thing that's ever happened to me.”  
  
“Rest your eyes." She leans over to kiss his cheek - she's been doing things like that lately because it's much easier than admitting she loves him. In fact, the awful gut-tug has been rearing up so often lately she's almost used to it, and she suspects he feels the same but can't say it. This is, of course, Mark's fault.  
  
Eduardo shifts again, but his hand is still on her. “I don't wanna go back to Miami after this.”  
  
“Then where do you see yourself in a month?”  
  
“I dunno. With you.”  
  
She wiggles closer to him and decides that at the next practical juncture, she will come clean about the origins of their relationship – she believes he'll appreciate the honesty and might even find it funny. More importantly, it will provide a clear benchmark to start from, which they need if they're going to love each other outright.  
  
She thinks it's what they've both been stretching towards.  
  
*  
  
The pizza guy says the laundromat's an easy walk away, and after dinner Eduardo carries their clothes stuffed in a paper grocery sack. Lisbeth sits on top of the washing machine and smiles at the thought of their underwear rolling around in hot water underneath her, and he hoots with joy at something on his phone.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“My battery's dead,” he grins. “And I'm never charging it again.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Uh huh.”  
  
“Won't your mother worry about you?”  
  
“I'll write,” he says, and picks through a pile of dismal laundromat magazines in search something to read, though he soon declares the reading selection "a stack of shit" and comes over to stand in front of the machine she's sitting on. Lisbeth thinks it's ridiculously exciting to be doing something as normal as laundry together, and Eduardo seems to feel it, too.  
  
She brushes a runaway piece of hair back from his face. "You get happier the further west we go."  
  
“I blame you,” he says, and closes both hands on her thighs and presses his forehead against hers. “It's crazy how we got together, you know? Like what are the chances two dumb kids like us would meet like we did?”  
  
It's time. “Chances are good.”  
  
“What's that mean?”  
  
“It wasn't an accident. I knew who you were,” she says, and his eyes darken.  
  
“How?”  
  
“Through Mark.”  
  
He stands up straight and takes his hands off her. “You know Mark?”  
  
“No, but I...watched him. Watched him watch you. You're so much more interesting I had to meet you. And I'm glad I did.”  
  
“How the fuck was Mark _watching_ me?” he asks, but he's smart, he figures it out. “Did you hack into his computer? His and mine?” Her eyes drop in admission, and he's thinking back to the disconnected relay, the wild ride in Miami. “Lisbeth, are you fucking shitting me with this?”  
  
“Eduardo...”  
  
She reaches out for him but he backs away. “No,” he says. “Don't touch me. Don't even speak to me.”  
  
She bows her head and lets him leave, concentrating on the mathematical pattern of the washing machine agitator as a distraction. Time will smooth this over and he'll be in their room – in bed probably, and maybe she can make him forget what he was upset about.  
  
He's not in their room when she returns an hour later with their folded laundry. His things aren't there, and the car isn't out front. It's a small town with nowhere to go, but he's gone. Lisbeth's nauseated from how much her fault this is and races to the motel office with trembling hands. “The man I'm with,” she says, fighting to keep a steady voice. “Have you seen him?”  
  
“He checked into another room,” the desk attendant says, with an air that Lisbeth's crazed appearance is a likely reason why.  
  
“Thank you.” She returns to the room and dons one of his t-shirts from the laundry sack. It's soft and it smells nice, but it doesn't smell like him.  
  
*  
  
He's silent and cold in the morning, but at least he's in the car next to her.  
  
Ninety miles down the road, he says, “I'm upset because everyone I know fucks me - there's always secret bullshit that I don't know about, and I expected it from Mark but not from you.”  
  
“I'm sorry,” she says quietly. “But we're so close now I had to be honest. I don't really know what to say.”  
  
“Then maybe you should stop talking,” he says, and it's so unlike him it gives her chills.

 

 **WILLIAMS, ARIZONA**  
  
  
The Grand Canyon had been their secondary pilgrimage a week ago but Eduardo blows right past and says more words to the highway patrolman who pulls him over for speeding than he's said to Lisbeth since the laundromat.  
  
When they stop for the night, he checks them into separate rooms again and does a great job of sounding like his father. “I'd appreciate it if you could separate my laundry from yours, and I'd also like to be in the car and driving by eight in the morning. Can you make that happen, please?” Lisbeth nods and sullenly accepts her key.  
  
She goes for a miserable walk for cigarettes and to clear her head – it's cold, and the inside of her nose hurts from the altitude. She wonders how Eduardo had been with Mark. Wouldn't he have been the emotional one, the fiery one who'd fight when Mark shut down? _Did_ Mark shut down? It occurs to her that there's a lot she doesn't know, and when she gets back, Eduardo's just leaving the lobby with a vending machine Coke and they're forced to acknowledge each other. “Have a nice walk?”  
  
“No, it's freezing,” she says. “But I'm glad I ran into you. I've been thinking - it's a few miles out of your way, but when we get close, I'd like you to drop me off at LAX so I can fly home.”  
  
“Okay,” he says, expressionless. “Anything else?”  
  
“Yeah.” She can't admit that he's just called her bluff because she might still win. “Just because we aren't speaking doesn't mean we can't get each other off. If you want to.”  
  
He considers it a moment and follows her into her room.  
  
“Sit down,” he says, directing her to the bed, then gets on his knees in front of her and carefully pulls off the red cowboy boots, then socks, and closes each cold foot in one of his warm hands and just _holds_ them. It's so intimate, so loving Lisbeth can hardly stand it. This has to be the bridge that will bring them together again.  
  
She leans back onto her elbows, but he won't look up at her. She finally unsnaps her jeans in invitation and Eduardo obliges by pulling them off; he spends a sweaty half hour with his tongue in between her legs, working and sucking until she nearly pulls his hair out.  
  
“Kiss me,” she says breathlessly when he comes up for air, and he rears up and does once, fast. She reaches for the bulge in his pants but he dodges her offer to reciprocate and excuses himself.  
  
It's pretty clear he goes to jerk off in the bathroom with the fan running, and he reappears two minutes later with his shirt un-tucked. “I would've taken care of that for you,” Lisbeth says, and he shrugs and helps himself to a drag of her fresh-lit cigarette.  
  
“Tell me everything you know about Mark watching me,” he says, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.  
  
“He gets in your computer sometimes to look at your pictures and see what you're up to, and he writes bad poetry and emails that he never sends.”  
  
“What are the emails about?”  
  
“Sometimes it's general rants about your business philosophies, but mostly he writes about missing the relationship you had. He still loves you.”  
  
Eduardo's jaw clenches as he nods. “Anything else?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Do you know him?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“You swear you don't know him.”  
  
“I swear.”  
  
“And he doesn't know you?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“When was the last time you accessed my computer?”  
  
She honestly hadn't thought about the splash page or the text file lately. “I don't remember. A while ago.”  
  
“Lisb...”  
  
“I don't check into your private life anymore because we're always together. After we met I only did it to check on Mark.”  
  
The answer softens him somehow. “And the night we met - I suppose you learned about hurricanes and Seleção stats for my benefit.”  
  
“Yes. But everything else was real. I can't fake chess.”  
  
“Can you block Mark from ever getting into my computer again?”  
  
“Probably not, but I could try to scare him away.”  
  
“Would you, please?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“And unless you're checking up on Mark, will you please not violate my privacy in the future?”  
  
“Yes. I'm sorry.”  
  
He sighs and lowers his voice. “Is there anything else you need to tell me? About anything?”  
  
“No,” she says, and the back of her throat aches because it's so important. “I promise there's nothing else.”  
  
Eduardo's arms are crossed so tight it strains the broadcloth of his shirt, and he chews his lip like he can't decide what to do. “I'll see you tomorrow,” he says, and retires to his own room.  
  
His departure is exactly what Lisbeth expects but the last thing she wants, but rather than brood over it, she logs in to the mirrored copy of his hard drive.  
  
It opens to a splash page Mark rigged for _her._ It's a slightly younger Eduardo in bed with honey-colored skin, stretched out on his stomach and covered to the waist with a rumpled white sheet. He's laughing, reaching slightly behind himself to flip off the camera. It can't be in a Harvard dorm because the bed's too big.  
  
She deletes the photo and writes a script that will re-route Mark to his own desktop the next time he checks in. He'll be able to disable it with minimal effort, but she hopes the new content of the buried text file will make him stop and think.  
  
  
 ** _I'm calling a draw, and I won't antagonize you on here again.  
  
If either of us care about him we should respect his privacy. He doesn't deserve this._**  
  
  
She right clicks and considers deleting the mirrored copy of Eduardo's hard drive off the Netherlands server, but then notices mz_hd slightly lower on the list. She'd completely forgotten about having access to Mark's computer because she hadn't tapped it in months. Surely he's walled it off, she thinks, but when she clicks to open, it unfurls like a flag.  
  
Holy shit.  
  
 _He doesn't know._  
  
  
 **NEEDLES, CALIFORNIA**  
  
  
Los Angeles feels sickeningly close once they cross the state line.  
  
Eduardo stops to fuel up at a dusty gas station but he doesn't get back in the car once the pump clicks off. Lisbeth thinks maybe he re-charged his phone and is talking to someone, but he leans against the back end for so long she gets out to check on him. He's standing there with his arms crossed tight, looking out at the landscape. “Are you okay? Do you need me to drive?”  
  
“No.” He sinks down to sit on the bumper, which is barely wide enough for his ass. “There's some stuff I need to say to you.”  
  
Lisbeth has cautious hope. “Okay.”  
  
He squints into the sun and collects his thoughts. “This is so hard for me. For twice as many reasons as it used to be.” His voice changes because he's trying not to cry. “I've got so much shit tied up with him, and now...with you.”  
  
“I know, and I'm sorry. What I did was wrong. Beyond wrong.”  
  
“It was,” he says gravely. “But Lisbeth...I don't care.” He looks up at her, with eyes so full and sad. “How fucking sick is that?”  
  
“No sicker than what I've done.”  
  
He bites back a smile, but it only lasts a moment because he's crying. “Don't go. The airport and shit, I...please don't leave.”  
  
She steps into his arms and he stands up and holds her so tight her toes leave the ground. “I won't,” she says, and pushes her hands up the back of his shirt because she has to touch his bare skin.  
  
“I'm sorry I've been so horrible to you,” he whispers. “It's just...I've been so wrung out I can't sleep, and I miss you. God, I miss you so much.”  
  
“Shh. You don't have to.” Their reunion is attracting a small, unwanted audience, so Lisbeth wriggles back down to her own feet. “We can do this later. Let me drive.”  
  
They trade places in the car and take a minute to re-set the seats for their own height. Eduardo tips his back a few inches and asks, “Do you still keep that strip of pictures of us in your bag?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“We should get a copy made so I can have one, too.”  
  
  
 **SAN FRANCISCO**  
  
  
They've been reserved and polite since making up, but it's hard to not be excited as the city gets closer. Eduardo makes an announcement when the skyline comes into view. “No more dives.”  
  
“What's that mean?”  
  
“It means I want a suite at the Fairmont,” he says, but when they check in, luxury eludes him for another hour.  
  
“I'm so sorry,” the front desk agent apologizes. “Housekeeping needs a bit more time, but we're happy to store your things at the bell desk while you wait. We have a town car service that can take you anywhere you like for an hour.”  
  
“We've been driving so much I think we might take a walk instead. But thank you.”  
  
They wander around the Nob Hill neighborhood, slowly getting used to each other again. An irresistible smell turns out to be a coffee shop that sells tiny hot doughnuts by the bagful, and they get one and wander down a residential streets full of manicured little squares of lawn and beautiful neoclassic brick homes. A tall, pale green townhouse accented in deep Chinese red and cream has a realty sign zip-tied to the fence - it's not the most ornate on the block, but it's far from plain and Lisbeth stands in front of it, admiring the carved moldings and bay windows. “I wonder what it's like to live in a place like that.”  
  
“You could find out, moneybags,” Eduardo says, running a finger along the wrought iron fencing. “Hey, whoever lived here last has my same initials.”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“The mailbox,” he says. “I love that oval window on the third floor. It's pretty.”  
  
Lisbeth looks up at the gingerbread trim lining the roof. She can picture a chessboard on a carved antique table under the oval window, and it would be their private joke that they'd never play. She imagines what it would be like to play house with Eduardo there - they could get little doughnuts on the way to the farmers market and tend their postage stamp lawn, and if they ever start acting too much like old marrieds they could fuck on the kitchen floor to mix it up.  
  
She memorizes the realtor's contact information and walks away because she's afraid he might read her mind. “Do you ever wonder what happened to the magnetic chessboard?” she asks.  
  
“I do.” He smiles and reaches for her hand. “All the time.”  
  
*  
  
The hotel suite is a clean taupe dream, just like Eduardo wanted.  
  
“This bathroom is ridiculous,” Lisbeth says, her voice ringing off the marble floors. “The view, too.” Her beat-up little bag looks so out of place she shoves it in a drawer and looks out the window at the blue water of the bay.  
  
Eduardo's dress clothes have lived flat in the car trunk for almost two weeks, and Lisbeth notices he's carefully shaking out not one but two suits. “How come you brought two?” she asks. "There's only one meeting.”  
  
“There's a cocktail party tonight. Sort of a social lubricant, you know. I meant to ask if you'd come but I sort of quit talking to you.”  
  
“Do you still want me to?”  
  
“You might as well meet Mark,” he says bitingly. “I'm just kidding, of course I do. Let me put my stuff away and we'll go out and find you something to wear.”  
  
*  
  
He takes her to a boutique that is the last place on earth she'd ever shop. In a way she doesn't like that Eduardo's dressing her like a prop, but on the other hand, it's fun.  
  
“Try this one on,” he says, of yet another black cocktail dress. Lisbeth takes it, but sandwiches something she really wants to try on in between all the conservative, simple things Eduardo likes.  
  
She tries on the dress she chose before the others and admires it in the fitting room mirror – the royal blue silk pours off her like liquid and ends at the knee. Backless. Braless. It shows the dragon. It shows _everything._  
  
Eduardo's mouth drops open but no words come out when she models it for him outside the dressing room. “God,” he says, shaking his head slowly, and she turns, unsure whether he loves it or hates it. “Don't try on any more,” he says. “That's the one.”  
  
The shoes she buys look like diamonds suspended by wire, and that's what she feels like – hanging by the thinnest filament and completely unsure what the next few hours will hold. Eduardo gets dressed with a concentration she's never seen in him, and she sits down at the vanity to do her face. She smudges the eye pencil just right and does a passable job of shadowing her cheekbones like the magazines do. The real struggle is to get her hair to frame her face with a softness to match the makeup, but somehow it all comes together.  
  
Eduardo tears up when she reveals herself. “You look...amazing,” he says, and she wants to back up and hide in the bathroom because the way he looks at her is almost too much.  
  
“It's just drugstore makeup.”  
  
“You look so pretty,” he says. “You always do, but God, _look_ at you!”  
  
“Keep this for me,” she says, and slips a lipstick into his pocket. For all their shopping escapades, she forgot to find a proper purse.  
  
*  
  
It would be interesting to measure who's most nervous – Eduardo, Mark, or her, and she spots Mark immediately at the party. It's strange to see him in motion and not scowling in a photograph - he's actually rather animated and looks happy about thirty percent of the time. When he sees Eduardo, he heads toward him right away.  
  
Admittedly, there is a pretty powerful electricity between them, but Lisbeth measures that it's mostly Mark. When they shake hands and move in for that distinctly male half-back-pound-hug, Mark plants a dry kiss on his cheek, and Eduardo seems gracious but slightly tuned out for protection. He's about to introduce Lisbeth when he lurches forward, bent under the weight of a giant hug.  
  
“Wardo!” Dustin screams, and just seeing the look on his face warms Lisbeth's heart because Eduardo deserves a thousand friends who love him that much.  
  
An unsettling side effect of the world's sweetest reunion is that she is left alone with Mark.  
  
“I know who you are,” he says, drilling into her with fierce blue eyes. She doesn't blink, just gives him an unimpressed half-smile which irritates him as expected. “You're smug because you're having sex with him. Well don't flatter yourself. Lots of people have.”  
  
She refuses to be rattled and thinks she's still smiling but can't be sure.  
  
“You think you know him, but you don't.” Mark says. “Have you ever had to build him back up after an argument with his father?”  
  
Lisbeth narrows her eyes. “I've had to build him back up after you.”  
  
“Oh please. You're just the hole he's fucking right now.” Mark says casually. “You don't know him at all. In fact, I'd bet a billion dollars you have no idea what the thing is with Eduardo's ankles. Or what he thinks about when he can't sleep.” Lisbeth doesn't know either of those things, and it shows because Mark says, “See? You're temporary. Although I'll admit it was interesting you were smart enough to rig that splash page. I can't imagine your computer sophistication stretches much further.”  
  
“You might be surprised.”  
  
“Is that a threat?” Mark snorts. “You can't hurt me.”  
  
Lisbeth disagrees. “I could ruin you.”  
  
“Whatever,” Mark says. “We both know what's gonna ruin you.”  
  
Someone drags Dustin away. “I'll be right back to meet your friend!” he promises, and Eduardo pretends to dust himself off.  
  
“Sorry about that. Mark, I assume you've met Lisbeth.”  
  
“I have, and she's really something,” Mark says, and raises his empty glass in a half-toast. “Excuse me, Wardo, Lisbeth. I need about four more of these.”  
  
It's quiet a beat, and Lisbeth asks, “You okay?”  
  
“Probably.” Eduardo takes a deep breath and takes her by the hand. “Come on, there's some people I want you to meet.”  
  
*  
  
It's after twelve when they get back to the suite, stumbling and clumsy with the key. Eduardo can't keep his hands off the blue silk, off her ass, and they tumble to the bed and wrestle him out of his clothes. It's the first time since before the fight, and Eduardo can't wait. “Leave your dress on,” he says, and wedges a pillow under her ass so he can hit the spot inside her that makes her go almost silent. She spreads her legs and trembles as he fills her up. “I never wanna lose this with you,” he breathes into her neck. “Ever.” The silk's driving him crazy, to be touching her yet not, and he fucks her deep and slow, building closer and closer until he's on the edge and dragging her along with him.  
  
“Lisbeth,” he whispers.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Lis-beth,” he moans, driving down harder.  
  
“Yes.” She tightens and keeps saying it until she stiffens and comes with a silent shake, involuntary tears leaking out the corners of her eyes as Eduardo shudders and collapses on top of her, one hand cradling the back of her neck and the other on the crushed silk at her waist. It's too hot to nest together, so they break apart and she experimentally strokes a toe against the inside of one of his ankles.  
  
“Keep doing that,” he whispers, and he's asleep in less than a minute.  
  
*  
  
At first he thinks it's a dream and that the metallic clanging is bells, but it's too hollow and too close to be bells. He reaches a leg out for Lisbeth but she isn't there. It doesn't worry him, and he burrows deeper in the warm cocoon of covers. He intends to soak up every drop he can before the alarm goes off.  
  
 _clink_  
  
It happens right beside him, and he recognizes the sound as bone china. A moment later he knows from the smell that Lisbeth's put coffee on the nightstand, and he drags himself up and puts on the pajama bottoms he didn't wear the night before. “What's all the noise?” he asks, coming out into the main room. Lisbeth is there, looking extra tiny in one of the fluffy white bathrobes from the closet.  
  
“I didn't know what you'd want for breakfast so I got some of everything.” A quintet of plates covered with silver domes decorates the table, and he peeks under every lid.  
  
“Wow. Thank you, this is so nice.” He sits down and shuffles several items to one plate, and Lisbeth sits across from him and does the same. “If you don't have any plans for today, would you get into my computer to see if Mark's been in it?”  
  
“Of course.” She's been itching to, and it's the lone reason she's glad Eduardo will be gone for half the day.  
  
She stays out of his way while he showers and dresses, and just before he leaves he turns and models for her approval. “So handsome,” she says, reaching up to straighten his tie knot, which doesn't actually need it.  
  
“Thanks. It's weird, I'm nervous today, but I wasn't last night.”  
  
“Don't be. He's an asshole who has no power over you.”  
  
Eduardo gives her a minty kiss. “I should be back by three. Stay out of trouble, okay?”  
  
“I'll try.”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“I love you, too.”  
  
It startles them both, but they don't linger on it because the fact that it's out is quite enough.  
  
*  
  
While he's at the dreaded meeting, all Lisbeth finds on his computer is the text file: Mark agrees to leave Eduardo's laptop unmolested, but adds, quite unnecessarily:  
  
  
 ** _I reserve the right to think you're a bitch._**  
  
  
Fucking asshole.  
  
She stews about it for a while and looks up the website of the realty company offering the house she liked. The interior photographs cheer her up immensely and she makes an appointment to see it in person. She daydreams of presenting it to Eduardo like an apology and revisits yesterday's thoughts of an un-played chessboard and the kitchen floor.  
  
Eduardo's so agitated when he gets back that afternoon there's no good segue to tell him about it. “It was a complete waste of time,” he says. “Five hours of jargony shit and none of it _meant_ anything. Mark's got too many MBAs working for him.” He pulls his tie out of his collar and throws it on the bed. “I hate how the company's being run and I'm totally outnumbered, and if you're wondering why I'm so late it's because Mark and I fought for another hour,” he says sullenly, then picks up his tie and rolls it up nicely, as if rueful for the disrespect. Lisbeth swallows hard at the confirmation that some small part of him still belongs to Mark and perhaps always will. “What did you do today?”  
  
“I made an appointment to look at that house,” she says quietly, watching him for a reaction.  
  
“That's great,” he says, combing fingers through his thick hair. “Really, really great.” His voice doesn't match his words, though, and he notices she's on her laptop. “Are you checking up on Mark?”  
  
“I did earlier, and he's stayed away. I'm looking at furniture.”  
  
“For the house?”  
  
“Yeah,” she says, and something dies in his expression. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah. No. I guess...I wanna...” he trails off, but then checks himself. “Never mind.”  
  
“You want to what?”  
  
“Leave. But we won't.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because you like that house and you want furniture.”  
  
She shrugs. “Even if I get it, we don't have to stay. I miss traveling with you.”  
  
“You do?” He's visibly relieved when Lisbeth nods. “Where would you want to go?”  
  
“Wherever you want to go.”  
  
“We missed the Grand Canyon, but...” Bad memories. “Nah.”  
  
“Hmm...” Lisbeth thinks about the coastline and cold fingertips and coffee so thick and black it causes stomachaches. “How about north?”  
  
“Okay,” Eduardo says, and wonders exactly how far north they'll go. Seattle? Canada? _Alaska?_ “Have you ever seen the northern lights?”  
  
“Lots of times.”  
  
“I never have,” he says, bending down to kiss her cheek. “North it is.”  
  
*  
  
Eduardo will miss the Fairmont, but not enough to stay. “Lisby, come on. The valet's waiting, we gotta go.”  
  
“Just a minute.” A few more keystrokes and she'll be done...  
  
“Lisbeth!”  
  
“Fine, fine.” She snaps her laptop shut before having a chance to check her handiwork, but checking it would be difficult because Facebook's “Like” button is now broken. Like, so broken that every site that has one will whipcrack back on itself and crash when its usual path is dead. It might only take a day or two to fix, but it makes a good point: the point that Lisbeth doesn't like Mark. Whatever his hangups were with Eduardo there was no need to call her a bitch, and another offense will get him a friends structure attack that will bring him to his virtual knees. Quite possibly his _actual_ knees, too.  
  
“What the hell were you so busy with, anyway?”  
  
“Researching the root structure of kudzu.”  
  
“You're so weird,” he says lovingly. “Do we need to stop for anything on our way out?”  
  
“Mm, no, I don't think so.”  
  
“Toothpaste? Tampons?”  
  
“No,” she laughs.  
  
“Fifth of vodka and a Snapple?”  
  
“No,” she says, and hands him her bag to carry. “I have everything I need.”


End file.
